


Numinous

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [149]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>numinous: adjective: nü-mə-nəs, ˈnyü: filled with a sense of the presence of divinity; appealing to the higher emotions or to the aesthetic sense</p><p>mid 17th century: from Latin numen, numin- ‘divine power’ + -ous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Numinous

He wasn't religious, nor especially spiritual; in some ways, he was in fact more rationally minded than his slightly taller, green eyed partner who was currently dozing in his lap. And yet...and yet. He remembered as he had simultaneously prayed to and cursed against the god he hadn't needed until the moment when he thought he was dying, first from the bullet that ripped through his shoulder and then the infection afterwards, he had wondered briefly if he was being saved for a certain purpose. 

Then he recalled the moment he saw Sherlock standing over the microscope, and when he looked up, it was as close to a spiritual event, numinous, even, something holy, if not to put too fine a point on it. He could remember pulling himself up to his full height as Sherlock's eyes took him in, he knew he was being judged, by something, something bigger than the two of them, and he knew the moment he passed whatever test it was, as he took a deep breath and Sherlock winked at him.

He sighed as he ran his hand through his detective's hair, still damp from the shower he had needed after running that last suspect down. It had taken them so long to see, to trust each other enough to admit they were more than friends, more than partners, he had been afraid to give in to that feeling of rightness that he felt the moment he sat down in his chair, the first time he had run through London on Sherlock's heels, the first time Sherlock's hand accidentally brushed against his thigh in the cab. It wasn't possible that the wild, brilliant, insanely infuriating and blindingly gorgeous man wanted him, not in the same way, not possible...until it was...

 

A nightmare had broken his sleep again, Afghanistan had been replaced by visions of being too late, too late to save Sherlock from himself, and he woke up screaming for his flatmate, trying to find him in the dark, coming up empty.

"Shh..." A voice came from the doorway. Sherlock had learned the hard way not to get too close during the dreams. "John. I'm here. I'm safe. You need to wake up."

"Nooooo...."

"John."

Finally, John's breathing slowed enough for him to fall back to sleep; Sherlock went back downstairs, and pulled out his violin in order to keep the demons at bay. After an hour, he placed his instrument in its case and went upstairs to...what, exactly, check on his friend? That was his intention, but he looked down at John and saw the tracks of tears that were still damp along his jawline, and took a chance. He removed his dressing gown and slipped into the bed, at first barely breathing, but then John leaned into his warmth with a sigh and captured his hand in his still slightly trembling fingers, so he stayed. He didn't remember falling asleep, but the next morning found John's head pressed against his chest, awake and silent, thoughtfully stroking the inside of his elbow, tracing the scars that he never meant for John to see. Never thought they would ever be close enough for him to see.

He tensed and tried to pull away. 

"Shhh..." John placed a light kiss over them, almost blessing them. He shivered as no one had ever touched him in that way before, in a way that made him feel safe and terrified and peaceful all at once.

"Johnnnn-"

"I have waited so long to be able to touch you. Did you know?"

Sherlock shook his head as John had rendered him speechless.

"I don't believe in God, or fairies or fate, but the moment I saw you, I knew. I knew I had survived in order to be by your side, in whatever way you would have me. Our scars are only part of our story, love, my scars are not me, your scars do not define you."

Sherlock took John's face in his hands and looked him in the eyes, and saw nothing but love.

"No one has ever-"

"I know."

"I don't know how-"

"Me either, I've never been in love before, this is new for me, too, yeah?"

"Hmmm, uhm, may I kiss you, please?"

"Of cour-"

Sherlock gently pressed his lips to John's shoulder, as he softly traced the rough, damaged, discoloured mess, he felt the man above him quiver.

"Oh, mmmmm...Sherlock, I-"

 

"Hello in there-"

"Hmmmm?"

"Movie's over, love. Where were you?"

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"You." 

A shy grin spread across Sherlock's face. "Good, I hope? Not still mad about your-"

"My what?"

"Never mind, I think it's time for bed, you look tired."

John rolled his eyes as he was pulled off the couch and into bed.


End file.
